I can’t curse the wind
it carries the seeds
that make the flowers
to decorate my view
I can’t curse the wind
it pushes me harder
to meet my ambition
that makes me stronger
I can’t curse the wind
it creates the change
that we all need with
a little airing out
I can’t curse the wind
no matter how much
it stings my skin, because
without it I am stagnant.
for less than you paid for the
plastic tarp that covers the addition
you’re attaching to your
6,000-square-foot, $10 million home,
we enjoyed the same priceless views
a sky as blue as God’s eyes
with puffy white clouds dancing
in front of distant snowcapped peaks,
the green hills and weeping willows
decorating the winding, perfectly flat path,
the ponds with cattails, the canal,
the endless crabapples dressed in
pink and white flowers for spring,
the sprouting green bushes,
your gorgeously manicured yards,
green grasses galore,
green buds of leaves popping
out on trees as tall as back east.
your green may have seven figures,
but mine has ten million shades,
strength in my calves,
a content-with-books-to-read-in-the-trailer
oldest daughter,
and priceless views
that I didn’t pay a penny for.
someone else would leave it there
walk it home
or make a phone call crying
but I find no tears inside my skull
nor can I find a reason to stop
instead I hear my inner voice
telling me that I’m OK
(even if I seethe in pain)
I pick myself and the bike up
wipe the blood
fix the chain
and almost reach my daily goal
someone else would call me crazy
or tell me I’m too risky
but I have already fit that bill
lost my mind somewhere
along the bike path when I was sixteen
and I don’t care to find it
instead I hear my inner voice
telling me that I have a story
that my daughters will retell
proudly pointing to my bruises, scabs
as if they are their own
(their own strength,
carrying them forward
when they wish to turn back)
someone else would give it up
admit defeat
but all I hear is my inner voice
telling me that I am who I am
and (for them, for you)
I could never be someone else.
1. Sore muscles: a recorded memory of my crash
2. Fixed bike with gears that switch like butter
3. Three beautiful girls
4. Pancakes for breakfast
5. Strawberries in season to go with the pancakes
6. Cross stitching, so relaxing
7. A quilt made by my friend and bought by my husband
8. Two pairs of shoes for Isabella: $8.63
9. New bike helmet (silver to match my bike)
10. Prime rib
11. The last of Dad’s prime rib that they saved for my birthday!
12. Prime rib, second helping
13. Cooked carrots cooked with the prime rib
14. Asparagus (in season!!)
15. Made-from-scratch chocolate cake
16. I didn’t have to bake
17. French vanilla ice cream to go with the cake
18. Fixing the fucking bridging certificates so they’d print
19. 3.8 mile hike
20. View of the flatirons
21. A trail that is accessible by the stroller
22. Girls who tell stories to each other along the trail
23. A survival kit that includes two bottles of Riesling
24. A shirt nice enough to wear to work
25. Rain that pours only once we’re back at the car
26. Printing all the bridging certificates for free
27. All my Facebook birthday wishes
28. The silly ecards Elizabeth sent
29. Earl Grey tea
30. Green olives stuffed with blue cheese and garlic
31. Hershey’s Special Dark
32. The perfect, most surprisingly romantic husband in the world
You and I, we have our course and miles set:
a journey plotted amidst winds and trail closures,
a day after torrential rains and their
resulting torrential (all over the path) floods
yet no journey is complete without a moment
of hesitation, of paths lost, of alternate routes
we travel the way I remember (years ago,
a different bike carried me to work this way)
but the path is twisted, filled with tree roots
and curves that you’ve told me you dislike.
at our usual high-speed pace (we made a pact
to beat our record), the sidewalk jumps up and grabs
us. like disconsolate lovers, we tumble to the ground,
rolling over each other’s metal, skin, plastic, blood.
i lie for perhaps five minutes, adjusting my headphones
so not to miss my story, thinking perhaps my leg is broken
there could be phone calls to make and i’ll need a new
helmet, but when i stand, i grin at my bruised-up,
perfectly movable leg, and gasp at you tangled beside
me, my partner in this determined destiny we’ve set.
when i lift you and turn the wheel, you too have suffered
scrapes in our lovers’ quarrel. i adjust your chain, wiping
my greasy fingers on our towel, swipe the broken pieces of
the cateye to the ground, and we are off once again.
“that was only mile three,” I whisper, and your unscathed
silver frame, your perfectly intact black tires, lead me
into the wind, the pain of our bruises washed away with
spring’s air, water from the overflowing creek, and love.
how ironic that as
i come around this curve
to fight this hill
with what little strength
my legs have left,
“A Candle in the Wind”
blasts in my ears.
it’s not that i don’t think i can
(oh how i know i can,
“The Little Engine that Could”
still my favorite book)
it’s my speed, hovering
like a coffee hot fudge sundae
on the path before me,
enticing me with what before
was effortless.
i push myself harder,
watching the odometer dip
below 10 mph for the first time
this morning, tears of frustration
popping out into my eyes
as Elton John tells Marilyn
how she didn’t know what
to do when the rains came in
(this wind blows it in now,
gray streaks of sky
and hollow clouds)
I see the light at the end of my journey
(quite literally, a stoplight)
and I push, push, push
until I have arrived, crossed the street,
and just as “Sky Blue and Black”
comes on, the black shadows
of endless boats dot the sparkling blue
choppy waves of water,
the perfectly beautiful view
for which I’ve worked so hard,
the perfectly beautiful song that,
as I coast down the hill,
brings tears of admiration
out from my eyes,
ready to rest on my
windburned, grinning cheeks.
I know I’m a head-to-toe beauty
in my bike helmet,
oversized headphones,
wool mittens and socks,
and navy blue-with-white-stripes
long underwear
worn underneath
my butt-padded
bike capris.
But really?
It’s six a.m.
and your honking horn
and horny cat calls
are making you
appear a little desperate.
Get a life.
(Though I must thank you
for the poetic inspiration)
I could have skipped this
but then I would have missed
the sunrise glistening
like a sparkling curtain,
opening today’s show
(carried by wind that
pushes against me, a
wall I will fight now
for the pat on the back
later today)
I could have skipped this
but then I would have missed
the absences she’s had,
the plight of the struggling student
who so demurely
will not ask for help
(but will accept the
help I offer her)
I could have skipped this
but then I would have missed
the smiles on their faces
as they took turns riding
the scooter round and round,
the perfect homemade ice cream
dripping happiness from their chins,
(the memory that I created
with a spontaneous choice)
I could have skipped this
but then I would have missed
the chance to make
a lesson that will enlighten
them, make each of us stronger,
and create the collaboration
that guides them to the
success every student deserves.
I could have skipped this…
but then I would have missed
the life that I have chosen
because I didn’t skip this.
One: squirrels are suicidal
dashing in front of tires in a race
that didn’t exist before
they saw me coming
Two: canals are the best
places to ride a bike along
(flat and meandering,
tree filled and peaceful)
Three: once again, fresh
homemade ice cream from
Bonnie Brae upholds its
“beautiful hill” standard.
Four: my girls are fish, in
and out of the water no
holds barred, ready for summer,
ready for anything.
Five: two hundred joggers in
Wash Park may look like a race to them,
but it’s just another Saturday in
Denver, just what my girls should see.
Six: the liquor store is also
known as the “licorice store”
because they have wine for us and
lollipops for them: a treat for all.
Seven: playing outside with
the neighbor kids is just as magical
for this generation as it was for mine,
just as free, and just the way to end the day.
in this moment
I can find the pace I need to get me there stronger
Mythili can “read” a whole page in her elaborate story
Riona can say “I wuv you” seven times
Isabella can brush her top teeth by herself
and someone on the other side of the world
or right across town
is giving birth to a perfectly healthy baby
while another lost soul is pointing a gun to his head
in this moment
I can hear Alanis Morisette motivating my pedals
my students can see twenty pictures on Google
of the cedar trees they’ve never heard of
the teachers can track me down for brownies
and someone right across town
or on the other side of the world
is pounding a woman’s skull into the drywall,
while another is handing a ten-year-old his first pair of shoes.
in this moment
I will live
I will love
I will remember what I have
what we all have
(somewhere within us)
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